Tilly's head turned toward Jen sharply, her look of surprise drawing out a warm laugh and a raise of her nearly empty, sweating glass from Jen. "Your fears are loud. But my hope for your happiness is steady."
And that was sometimes all a person needed: for someone who had listened to the cadence of your heart in good and bad condition and could look you in the eye and tell you it would find its beat.
She suddenly felt free. She felt nothing of the fear and uncertainty that had tangled themselves up in her mind.
Jen was lending her her bold peace.
Tilly laughed; the sound ricocheted in the open space, and it sounded alive; she felt alive. She hadn't felt this alive in a long time. The coconut rum was dancing happily in her mind.
"I promise."
"Coconut cream pie," Jen added. "Eloise said she added it to The Black Cat and now it's stuck in my head. Can you get desserts stuck in your head like songs?"
"Yeah. I think that's one of the best things to get stuck in your head."
"Much better than It's a Small World."
A few moments of silence passed as they looked over the night-drenched valley, crickets and frogs singing.
"Damn it," Tilly said softly.
Jen pursed her lips. "Yeah, it's in my head now, too," she said apologetically.
Tilly took another long bath underneath the fall leaves, iridescent bubbles holding the smell of crisp apples baked with cinnamon and clove when popped. She lay her head back, her black and emerald hair thrown on top of her head in a long ponytail that hung over the edge of the white porcelain like a rope that Tom Hanks swatted at lazily.
The perfect melody played softly, matching her insides. It was melancholy with notes lifting the mood at just the right moment, leaving quarter notes of hope floating along the bars of sadness.
She didn't know what she thought or felt.
And that didn't change when she lay her head against the dark pillowcase and closed her eyes.
Hours later, when the night and the morning were holding hands, Tilly lifted her head from a deep sleep. She didn't know what she was doing when she slipped on her diaphanous red robe and padded out of her room, down the hall, and through the kitchen, grabbing a fresh pitcher of coconut mojitos magically left on the island.
The night pulsed with something heady, and she could feel it like invisible forces wrapping around her body, which was kept in a protective cover of warmth as she slid through the back garden and along the wooded path, sipping her cold cocktail. Bobbing lights bounced above, lighting her way.
She didn't know why she was out here, but she felt pulled by the hidden moon and the stars and something darker.
When she came to a clearing where the treetops praised a blanket of starlight, she looked up, watching their winking bodies. She wondered if they had called to her as she sat on a fallen tree. The moon kept herself hidden, her star children holding court for the night, but she could feel the moon's pull, the softness of her song. She'd always found a kinship with the moon, her tendency to come and go gently, without announcement. She smiled a tipsy smile as she remembered childhood conversations with the moon, speaking to her like a friend.
"You know, I feel your soul. You have this ethereal way about you, pulling us in and out, letting the sun light the darkest parts of you, crashing the waves, drenching us in beauty or darkness. I always admired how it never felt like you were hiding, just releasing the world for a bit so that you could recharge." She smiled up at the dark sky, speaking to the moon in a soft tone, her inner child voiced with love and admiration.
"I think I always had this impression of you that you know exactly how much to love the world and keep us at a distance so that you can love yourself." Her eyes followed the shadow of Portia's wings fluttering, then stilling as she sat next to her on the log. Another sip of her drink slid smoothly down her throat, coating her thoughts and words in a buttery hope.
"Maybe the secret is...maybe the secret is that when we get older we fall in love with ourselves, and then everyone else has to measure up to that. Is that it? The ancient secret the dark partsof the world hopes we don't learn?" She smiled lazily and dipped her finger into her cool drink before offering it to Portia, who hopped happily closer to lick it off, making Tilly laugh.
"I wish my magic made me braver," she said in a sobered voice, an earthy wish wrapped around her ribs.
She felt uncertain, and she felt anxious. She heard the slithering voice tell her she had no right to be bold, to have any magic of her own.
Then she remembered the notes from the inn, and the way that Bess told her she was learning how to be kinder with Tilly living at The Lost Souls House.
She heard Jen promise to witness her heartache, and these women love her through storms. She thought of leaving Brent years ago when her heart felt quartered and her knees weak. A picture of her squaring off with Theo filled her mind, and his half smile when he looked at her bloomed.
She heard her voice cut through the lies. The uncertainty dissolved, and the intruding anxiety frowned as a door closed on its lying voice.
She then lifted her glass to the night curtain as it shifted, and out peeked a silvery white sliver. The moon had paused its hiding to give her this moment of bravery, a reminder that she needed no permission to be who she is.
Truth could starve anxiety if you gave it breath.
